Go Home Monochrome.

I

t’s really no mystery how much I love to party… :/

So you can imagine my elatement, when I was begrudgingly, laboured into attending a ‘Manchester Fashion Industry’ party…. You know, cause I’m TOTALLY on trend and all that. I hear, michelin man layering, is like so, a la mode right now.

But I figured attending the shin-dig would be the lesser of two very unappealing evils, given the grief my agents would have thrust upon me, if I was to no show. Though 15minutes prior to my cabs arrival, I was still very much in favour of building my soon to be niece, a crafty little must-have mobile instead. Unluckily for me, my partner convinced me other wise…

The ‘pre-party’ started in a champagne bar… Now don’t get me wrong I loves the bubbles, even if they’re not such a fan of the lining of my stomach. But if I here the term ‘pre-drinks’ one more time, I swear Im gonna die of cringe fever. Since when did we have to categorise drinks consumed earlier in the evening, as a whole new genre?.. Oh yes, that’ll be because we need to hashtag every element of our existence… to the point of a very dull existence!!!

The champagne bar, was nothing out of the unexpected. A sardine-ly seeming tin of who’s, who… (I genuinely had no clue, who was who) of course. THANK THE LORD-LY…. however my name was on the guest list, (albeit page 287), but this did mean I wasn’t U-turning in the direction of the taxi rank, at the speed of Linford Christie, before the bizarrely camping paparazzi.

Oh did I mention this was also a Monochrome party?… Yes. My absolutely favourite mix of pretentious palleting. Now unless were attending a party at Puff Daddy’s house, I do not care for sea of beetle juice get ups and white gowns that spell a hex, for a Vino drinking klutz, like me.

Of course I blended in like an elephant in a hot tub. Theres really nothing like snooty glances, elbows to the intercostals and fake conversation, to get me in the party spirits. But I did get a seat, which is always cranks the night up a few notches, on the cozy scale. Even if it was in the ‘models own area’. Which immediately gives everybody else in the vicinity, licence to hate you for eternity (pretty understandable, I would hate me too.) Just when we thought we’d seen the back of racial segreation, were now segregating over thigh gaps. NORA!

But nothing really screams broke/tosser, than the glow in the dark bottles of un-namely Vodka, complete with extendable Catherine-wheels on top. #FML

After a random catwalk and some very dubious mc-ing. The congregation migrated to the one and only Milton Club. A place that personality goes to die and the wannabe (never-be) forbes rich list, go to do, whatever they do. Whether your names on the guest list or not here, its quite irrelevant. As quite expected, a designer vagina, on minimum wage, plays God; with her holier than thou attitude and a Wilkos clip board. If she’s not sleeping with you and your not Mark Wright, your odd’s really aren’t looking that good. So you better grab your Berghaus, beacuse if she’s going to be cold tonight…. Your damn right, your gonna be cold tonight.

Once you’ve squeezed past her ego and wet their appetite with a wod of wonga; said de-frosting lucky buggers can strike a polka and/or duck face in front of their very own pop-up vinyl backdrop. Please do feel free to then upload and hashtag the hell out of said image, on all social media outlets you may attain. Thats right folks, you thought you where paying to enter a club, but in fact you’ve just put another social media and marketing executive out of a job.

However you feel about that, you’ll most likely end up doing it anyway, as once you get inside their doors, you’ll be bored out of your damn skull. Unequivocally, if your booked into ANOTHER private booth. A whole concept, that soars right above my noggin. Why in Gods name, would you get so dressed up, to go drink in a shell? Surley the idea of ‘going out’ is to meet and mingle with people ‘outside’ of your house. If thats really what turns you on, then grab your onesie, crank up the disco and indulge in your own entire cabinet of alchohol, for a fraction of the price. Hallelujah! Your feet, your head and your wallet will thankyou in the morning. Yes, definitely your wallet. Because if your not down for the feet flavoured beverage, served up exclusively for the models (whom at this point are just far to giddy at the aspect of being able to ‘check in’ here). You can always get a round in and/or remorage your house. Now I enjoy a good cocktail and I don’t mind paying for the privilege of a great mix-ologist, when the rare time arises. But if your unwilling to fulfil the request, of a VERY simple fruity favourite, that strays slightly of the course of the minimal cocktail menu. Then not only does bewilder and likely anger your clientele, it really doesn’t scream that next level/luxury clubbing experience that your tryingso hard to portray and reflect the “exceptional service and friendly atmosphere” you market yourselves to be.

Conclusion… Save your sanity and pop on BBC 2’s Natural World. Your eyes and your mind will be enriched and your ears will be safe from the mutter of ‘pre-drinks’.

Heres a gorgeous little photograph of myself and the beautiful Tillie, taken by the talented Paul Smith photography.